


Marigolds

by Nebulad



Series: Ouroboros [1]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Day of the Dead, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Other, ft Barold's Sidestep costume
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 08:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17846135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/pseuds/Nebulad
Summary: To receive love, one must first subject themselves to the horror of being known. Rio discovers just how important they are while visiting Ortega’sofrendain an attempt to avoid Halloween.





	Marigolds

Rio can, in total, tolerate three Sidestep costumes before they take their box of candy and shut off all the lights in the factory. Kids don’t come up this way looking for Halloween treats so it’s only paranoia that has them sitting in the dark, but better to struggle a little trying to unwrap a fun-sized candy bar than see one more fucking kid dancing around in the suit that blew up their fucking spot and ruined their life.

Their phone buzzes and the Sidestep count goes up to five from the fourth offending costume— Herald sent a group picture, having bummed the number off of Ortega. He promised to _behave,_ and assured Rio that he understood they would not answer the thing unless he texted that he was actively dying— and even then, only a firm _maybe._ It was for convenience, though, because of the stupid training.

And now they were getting group shots of the Rangers dressed up. It wasn’t unusual for them to just trade costumes, seeing as how a majority of them were adults with no free time to actually do something creative; something tells them, however, that _work_ went into Barold’s stupid Sidestep look.

 

_Who the fuck let you do this???_

 

_I already had it half done when I met you!_

 

_If I see your face tonight you better hope it’s a functional suit._

 

Then he sent a jumble of shit that they logically knew was supposed to convey some sort of emotion, but their cheap burner phone didn’t have half the characters installed so they just tossed it back on their desk and jammed another depressingly small bar in their mouth. They only had a few more minutes to enjoy the sweet solitude, they knew.

Ortega wasn’t in the group shot, so it was only a matter of time now.

They counted exactly two minutes before the phone started actually ringing— reliably the only way to actually get in contact with them, instead of running the risk of having your texts ignored. The only one who could pull that shit was Ricardo, so with a heaving sigh they sit up straight and actually answer the stupid thing.

“Aren’t you busy?” they ask before he can get a word in. It’s not late in the afternoon yet, but he’s at his mother’s ranch helping her set up for _Día de Muertos_ ; speaking from experience, he just does not have the _time_ to be chatting.

He laughs, betraying his exhaustion. “I was just calling to ask how much candy I have to buy to get you down here.” They frown; the trip isn’t far outside of the city, but being around Ortega’s entire extended family sounds like a worse expenditure of energy than actually fist fighting Argent without their suit on; and that’s not even measuring the emotional toll of seeing his mother for the first time since Sidestep. “Money is no object. I’ll hit up factories if I have to.”

They think very seriously about asking what the problem is right then and there, but if he’s gunna have a breakdown it’s somehow more comfortable for it to happen in person where they don’t have to hold a phone to their ear until it’s over. “I’ll be there in an hour,” they tell him, because somehow the energy is worth the tradeoff of cheering him up.

They’re the worst fucking villain in the world.

. . . . .

Rio hires a cab because they’re flush, and even if they weren’t Ortega would pay for it. The driver is unwilling, at first, to leave the city limits; however, Entropy’s power isn’t giving up immediately when the cab driver gets mad. It’s child’s play to make the man ready and willing to go as far as they ask and accept whatever chunk of cash gets thrown at him.

They don’t short him, because it _is_ a long drive.

They shuffle off into the dirt and towards the music and noise already pounding out of Mama’s farmhouse. It should be too tiny to hold all the people that cram themselves in there, but by some power of will it’s always big enough for everyone. Ortega is on a rickety-looking porch swing, staring in the wrong direction.

A man so oblivious should _not_ be telepathically invisible, but life is fucking weird that way.

“Well, what’s the emergency?” they ask loudly, jamming the fist not holding a box of candy for the _ofrenda_ in their pocket. They’re already too keyed up at the thought of going inside, but seeing as how Ricardo lights up and holds out his arms for them, they don’t have to cross that bridge yet.

Rio moves closer, only realizing too late that he’s in _that_ sort of mood and falls into his lap with a grunt. “Rico, not where one of your cousins is gunna come out and make faces at me,” they scold, clutching their box to their chest. Despite their candy-fervour, they’re notoriously bad at baking; they always brought something processed for the younger members of the _ofrenda,_ and so far no one had told them they were wrong.

“It’s almost been a decade, Rio, they’re grown now.”

“And?” It’s the Ortegas, so their maturity level has nothing to do with their actions. Seven years can also bring forth a _lot_ of babies.

The idea that there are Ortega kids they _don’t_ know is suddenly sitting very strangely.

“Just give me a few minutes alone with you,” he says dismissively, kissing their jaw. “You’re gunna be mad at me in a second so I want to enjoy this time while it lasts.”

Their voice isn’t nearly exasperated enough with his mouth moving down to their throat. “What’d you do?”

He doesn’t answer for a few seconds, then sighs. “I called you down here because of the _ofrenda,”_ he explains, and they shake their box.

“You can get these literally everywhere.”

“Not for the candy. You know Mama put you on ours?” he asked, and no they absolutely did not fucking know that. Rio goes still in his arms and he sighs. “You can go see it if you want— everyone’s inside cooking.”

They don’t know that they want to see it, honestly. It’s kind of much worse than a grave, because they know the stupid rock says _Sidestep_ because even in death Ortega avoided revealing their identity— and thank god for that, because it meant they didn’t have to reinvent themself all over again. Mama’s _ofrenda,_ however, is a deeply fucking personal tribute from a family that knew them better than anyone ever should have, and actually _cared._

They all knew _Rio,_ and so the idea of visiting this grave is mildly terrifying.

“I can go with,” he offers.

“Why am I _still_ on it?” they ask, a little too loudly. He sighs and leans back, and they straighten even further. “Ortega why the fuck am I still on the _ofrenda?”_

“I didn’t… I didn’t know if you’d want everyone to know you were back,” he explains, and they immediately curl up into a vomit-ready position. “And I didn’t know if you were going to stick around, so I guess I just— I didn’t even think about it until I saw the display and remembered that I hadn’t said anything.”

“So what, you decided _I_ should be the one to tell them?” There is a _house full_ of Ortegas who don’t know they’re alive. Even if the house was empty except for Mama, this would be _unacceptable._

“No! No, I’ll go in and tell them while you’re out here. I just… I don’t know, I saw the offerings and it scared me, so I wanted to see you.” They battle, briefly, with the nearly overwhelming urge to strangle him for both his candidness and his mistake; then, a deep breath. _It’s like villain training,_ they think firmly, trying to fight back the nausea. _Look at this thing and feel nothing._

They release the breath they were holding, then turn to him. “Is it still in the barn?”

. . . . .

The burial of bodies is tricky in the land where at any given moment the earth could split open. Rio has never actually seen any gravesite decorations, nor have they taken any great pains to do so; the annual _ofrenda,_ however, has always been a familiar staple of the season that they associated with good memories. They used to love Halloween, being a sugar-fiend and a weirdo who wore costumes for a living. Spending it with Ortega only made it better, so it was sad in a way to approach the building with such dread.

The candles were already lit and the marigolds spread generously; it was intensely and painfully nostalgic, making their already laboured breathing falter. They’d already failed, they knew— they were already in tears just from having missed the whole thing, and they hadn’t even faced the horror of being known, of being tied to people in a way they couldn’t take back.

In a few minutes the whole place would be flooded with people relieved to see them alive, new kids that had grown up hearing about Sidestep but only ever seeing them on the altar; if they could just focus their eyes, they would see not only themself up on display, but also a load of people they would only just find out now had died. The terror was almost too much for a moment, but they didn’t have the time to indulge themself.

They looked.

The framed picture was one Rico had taken of them while they had tentatively helped Mama with some farm work. It was mostly lightweight jobs but it was totally and wholly new to them, whose only farm experience was… considerably different. _This_ had been different, in a good way. The Rio smiling uncertainly at the camera is plastered with dirt, having just finished the arduous task of rinsing plant boxes and becoming one with what felt like all the soil on the property.

Surrounding the photo were several full sized chocolate bars, because the Ortegas love them more than they lack self-control, and one of Rico’s mugs is set out full of pop standing among the marigold petals. Besides that, the normal things that Mama sets out: the bread, the _mole,_ the sugar skulls… the whole thing blurs terribly and Rio stops being able to tell what’s on the table.

When Ortega had told them that there’d been a funeral— _of course we had a funeral for you Rio, what’d you think?—_ they’d been embarrassed to remember that people had known them. Of course there would be a funeral for someone who was just one background check away from being a Ranger; the cameras needed to see Ricardo looking miserable and Chen looking stern, needed to see the stupid rock that said _Sidestep,_ needed to pick apart the choice of flowers on the spot that their body wasn’t.

That’d never been their grave, so there was no need to feel weird about it existing. _This_ was their grave, and it was terrifying.

“Rio?” They hear their name and for a second, even though they know it isn’t, they think it’s Ricardo.

But the person who opens the barn door is about half a Rico high.

“Mama,” they blurt, even though they intended to say something like _Mrs. Ortega_ because they let her believe for almost a decade that they were dead and it’s one thing when it’s Ricardo and they know he’ll try to drag them to therapy and the Rangers HQ and everywhere else like nothing horrible ever happened, but it’s another when it’s Mama Ortega who would have just wanted to know that they weren’t dead.

“I didn’t believe him at first— he’s in there telling everyone else now, but I said he was crazy if he thought my kid wouldn’t come tell me they were alive.” _There’s_ the anger they were afraid of, the anger that Ortega would never direct at them.

“I’ll tell you what I told him; it was safer that way.”

“He said he found you in a diner.”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t have come back if he hadn’t forced me.” Well, they would have; just not in the way anyone would have wanted them back. Entropy and Eden were meant to be the only faces Rio had left, but now here they were, standing in front of the _ofrenda._ “I don’t know if the people that had me know where I am or not. I wouldn’t have come tonight if I’d known he hadn’t told anyone.”

Mama Ortega doesn’t say anything for a while, looking thoughtfully between Rio and their picture. “It’s something to do with work, then?”

“Yes. No.” It has everything to do with Sidestep and nothing.

“I won’t ask for details, then. Come help me fix our display and I’ll give you the candy off of it.” They don’t deserve it, but they don’t say so out loud. They’re not sure they want to hear Mama’s version of Ricardo’s pep talks, which are both as intrusively caring as his but with a sterner edge of wisdom. She would have done things the right way, and it would only occur to Rio then that _they_ hadn’t.

. . . . .

Of course, Ricardo already has candy ready for them by the time they return to the party. Rio is on the porch again, on Ortega because he’s feeling handsy, only this time the kids are all out on the lawn running around while the adults try to organize food. Rio was handed a handful of gummy worms and the mug that was missing from Ranger HQ full of pop, and told in no uncertain terms not to touch the food until it was ready (with mutinous comments about how much thinner they’ve gotten). Rico wasn’t allowed to touch shit, because electrical surges destroy _everything_ , not just tech garbage.

“So whose idea was it to put me up?” they ask, trying to talk themself into getting up off of him. He’s kind of staticy, which would be a good excuse if it wasn’t sort of zen— more like those weird static balls rather than socks on a carpet.

“No one decided. That isn’t how the holiday works,” he tells them, his eyes anxiously seeking out the kids as they crawl all over the parked farm equipment. “I love you, Mama was heartbroken, so of course you went up.”

He’s already got his thumb running up and down their back before they even stiffen up, which is just adding to this horrible limbo of realizing that they’d tricked this whole family of humans into caring about them. “I wish you wouldn’t say shit like that,” they scold quietly. They slip off of his lap but keep their thigh pressed to his, because somehow they’d compartmentalized so much of their life into _Eden_ and _Entropy_ that they’d accidentally intersected _being Rio_ and _having a crush on Ricardo_.

“Like what?” he asks, his mouth twitching at the corners. They’re walking into a trap and they know it.

They answer, as if there was ever a chance in hot hell that he couldn’t fathom what he’d said to set them off. “ _I love you?”_

“Love you too Rio.” He kisses their cheek then stands, leaving their side cold and their face embarrassingly hot. “You feeling okay?” he says, just to let them know that they’re not hiding it well.

“Fine. Just cold.” It’s the least implicating thing they can think of to say, even though it holds a sort of longing for body heat. Without missing a beat he pulls off his jacket and wraps it around their shoulders, because of-fucking-course he does. He’s Ricardo Ortega, and he _has to._

“Let me go make you a plate. You need something to balance all that sugar in your system,” he says, already halfway down the porch steps. He’s flustered too, but the difference is that he’s flustered and winning, leaving Rio sitting there like a stupid idiot trying to frantically repress the memory of _hospitalizing_ him before they start bawling because they’re in too deep and this is too much and they shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have _cared…_

Their phone buzzes in their pocket, throwing off their train of thought. Ortega’s here, which means it’s Barold again for some reason, even though he’d _promised_ he would behave.

 

_So what are you dressed as?_

 

It kind of feels like he’s fishing to know where the original suit is, as if they know; or maybe he’s just being nice. Barold is nothing if not obnoxiously kind, and texting him gives them something to do with their idiot hands.

They look down at Ortega’s coat, then shake their head.

 

_A fucking idiot._

**Author's Note:**

> So here's the housekeeping. [This is my new game blog](https://heart-forge.tumblr.com/), where I talk about making games/writing junk. [This is the game](https://nebulous.itch.io/manor-hill) I am actively making, a dating sim wherein you're trapped in a lavish mansion with a fascinating stranger/sketchy old friend, trying to find your way out.
> 
> And now, this. I've played this game roughly three thousand times and still can't get over Ortega. Or Barold, but mostly Ortega. Who made it legal for telepath-proof-on-a-technicality-newsflash-asshole-ive-been-caring-about-you-the-whole-time Ortega to exist?? And then I got to thinking about Coco because at any given moment of the day I am thinking about Coco, and then my last two brain cells were shocked into coherency for a moment and now this exists.
> 
> I heard somewhere that the motivation for being nemesis with Ortega is that Sidestep feels he didn't care about them, but if Rio were to be less self-aware enough to let themself even try to be nemesis with him, it would just be because he cares so fucking much and it's killing them softly.


End file.
